Unpacking Be Damned
by tweetybird92
Summary: Home Fires Times get desperate when the newlywed Sarah Collingborne enlists her brother-in-law's help to distract both her sister and mother so she can have some privacy to FINALLY unpack her own home in peace. . . but Adam has other ideas.
**Unpacking Be Damned**

The legal bits: I don't own any of this; making no money you know the drill, it's for my personal amusement etc. It all belongs to Simon Block, ITV and those lovely people. Let's face it if I owned it Adam wouldn't have gone to France he'd be home safe oh and Nick would be dead. (but thank you for the 36 hour bit we get more in season two riiiiight? Terrible things aren't going to happen to Adam riiiiight? Only terrible things for Nick? Or no one. . . Nick can live if he behaves. *puppy eyes*)

And the important bits: This is for my best friend, you're the Frances to my Sarah- Lorraine; for my own personal Boris the Great: Elsa who sat on my lap the whole way through this and was just there; AND for two friends who I don't talk to nearly enough but helped pull me out of the shit that crazy bitch did to me: Anna, and Manda. Yha yha two of you don't even watch Home Fires but you girls were so important to this happening. You two and Lor listened to me rant about the crazy bitch that stole my confidence- the crazy bitch who critiqued every little thing I did for too long. The one who had some part of my subconscious convinced I couldn't write worth a damn, that she could always come up with some better twist on an idea I had come up with in the first place. I cut her out of my life a long time ago but that voice always lurked. I've had enough. That crazy bitch be damned here it is. My first actual published fanfic in about 4 years (and it's smut to boot! Heather would be proud!)

* * *

A few hours didn't sound like much, but the newlywed Mrs. Adam Collingborne hadn't managed much more than that alone with her husband since their honeymoon had ended. . . three days ago. If it wasn't her mother, it was her sister, Frances. If it wasn't Frances, it was one-or more- of the dozen odd matrons who made up the backbone of her new husband's new flock. But mostly it was her mother or Frances. Or both. They meant well, and it was sweet- in theory if less so in practice. In practice, despite all the help, and "help", half the house was still in boxes. Her mother helped for all she hovered and had put in her two pence over every single little thing. Mrs. Fellgate and the other ladies helped- despise their prying. But Frances. . . she spent more time talking than anything. She just had to know everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks. The two week honeymoon had been the longest the two had gone without talking since Frances had gotten married herself; but a woman was supposed to have time alone with her husband after the wedding!

All told, Sarah had counted up two hours she'd had her own home empty of people who didn't actually live in it. Two hours in three days. Heaven forbid her mother stay with the daughter who'd been married for seven years and lived right down the road!

And apparently any time alone, without Adam, was too much to ask. The side door had creaked open. They really did have to get that thing oiled; just another thing to add to the mile long to do list. "Frances." she growled half to herself, but she didn't bother to stop lining the shelves of the bottom cabinet. If she stopped every time someone- namely Frances- barged in she'd never get anything done. "Even Mother knocks."

When the Church gave Adam the choice of three parishes, a small voice in the back of her head had warned living in the same county as her sister would be a bad idea. Of course one, a village in Cumbria, had been out of the question; it was too far from everyone on both sides of the family. The other two had been a choice between a village in Manchester, and here. When he'd mentioned Cheshire she really should have asked the name of the village. Three days straight of Frances within walking distance was driving her mad. Somehow, it seemed there was less privacy here than when they'd shared a room. She loved her sister- next to Adam and their parents, Frances was the person she loved most in the world- but the constant "help" had gotten old within a day. Frances had a maid and a gardener. . . the vicarage did not.

"I didn't think a man had to knock before he came into his own kitchen." A familiar _male_ voice spoke up from the doorway.

Her head thumped against the shelf above her. "Adam!" This was an entirely different set of circumstances. Her husband could barge in all he liked. "I thought Frances had come back."

"Good surprise?" He looked her over from toes to the pink kerchief covering her hair.

"A wonderful surprise." she kissed him. "Peter took them to lunch about ten minutes ago. So with any luck we should have _some_ privacy for the next five minutes, before Mrs. Fellgate realizes you've turned up missing anyway."

"They? Your mother went too?" It wasn't that Adam disliked his mother-in-law exactly; as a matter of face he quite liked the woman. After all, she hadn't protested- much- when an ex-army chaplain a decade her daughter's senior had asked permission to marry her. It was just her awful habit of interrupting at the most inopportune moments that got under his skin.

"Peter promised to keep her busy for a while so I could unpack in peace."

He smirked. "You've enlisted reinforcements then?"

For a vicar that man was entirely too suspicious. "I suppose you could settle for dinner cooked out of boxes again, but personally I'm getting a bit sick of it." The only thing it seemed he'd cared about getting unpacked was that atrocious lamp his great-aunt had given them as a wedding gift. The same godawful lamp she'd tried three times now to relegate to the attic or better yet somewhere that was not her house, with no success. The hideous thing was sitting pride of place in their bedroom.

Adam shook his head smiling.

"He offered to distract her! I didn't have to ask a thing."

"Her meaning Frances."

"Well yes, but I wasn't about to stop Mother if she wanted to go along." Half an hour even to get the house the way she wanted it was more than enough.

Without so much as another word he caught her around the waist and lifted onto the bench, amid squeals to stop. After three days, Adam Collingborne's pragmatic side was winning out. A man's libido could only take so many nights saying no. That being said currently there was no sister-in-law in the kitchen, no mother-in-law down the hall. It would be a shame to pass up such a golden opportunity!

"Adam!" Sarah squealed. "I'm too heavy for you to be picking up! What are you doing?!" She wasn't quite sure what had gotten into him, but she wouldn't complain, well not too much. "The window's open, someone is going to see us!"

"Frances-"

"They _all_ do it."

Tiny details. They weren't here now, God willing they wouldn't be here soon. Peter was a smart man, surely he could keep his wife and her mother occupied for a couple of hours. Adam kissed the hollow beneath her ear.

After all the close calls in the past few days he must have learned. A door-even locked- didn't mean privacy for long; it just bought them time to get their clothes straight. Her head lolled to the side. "You're terrible." She felt more than heard him mumble something into her neck. "I'm serious. We have enough problems without someone catching us and half of Great Paxford finding out by Sunday morning." Everyone was entirely too curious about the new vicar and his wife for her taste.

He pulled back for a moment. "They're busy. We'll hear them long before they're near enough to see anything." It wasn't until they'd physically moved in that he'd realized just where his sister-in-law stood in the scheme of the village. As the 'brother-in-law' and more importantly the vicar he had more freedom than Frances' little sister.

Sarah looked from his face to the door and back again. There was a rosebush below the window. . . no one was getting too close to it.

"That door has a lock," he kissed her head. "A fairly stout one. And unless they went out the front should still be locked."

She eyed him for a moment. They were both desperate for more than five minutes to do something- anything together and more importantly alone. It didn't _have_ to be sex; even if she had grown very fond of that part of marriage over the past weeks. They had a happy enough married life so far but seeing him this pleased was a rare thing. When his mind was focused on something- be it her or something else- the storm clouds that so often distracted him were replaced with those of an entirely different sort. The war had ended two years ago come November, but Adam still shook sometimes- more often than he'd admit to anyone. She'd known about the shaking since they'd met. Even when they were engaged there were days he couldn't hold a pen he shook so badly, so she'd written down his sermons for him.

It wasn't until their honeymoon she'd learned about the rest of it. Shell Shock they called it. Shaking, night terrors, screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. He'd woken her at midnight a week into their wedding trip screaming, shaking, and raving about German soldiers, and scared her half to death. Two hours later she'd managed to get him back to sleep and drifted off herself. By morning he didn't remember any of it. Then and there she'd set about fixing it as best she could. Distraction seemed the best course of action she'd found so far, if that meant sex, sex it was. It might not be a permanent solution, but it was a solution until she could find a better one.

"Lock it." Sarah bit her tongue. This was their house; it was high time they started acting like it. Besides, a wife was supposed to take care of her husband, and if that meant chasing storm clouds away she'd jolly well do it! Church matrons, sisters, and mothers be damned! She leaned back on one arm when he went to lock the door. "I thought vicars were supposed to be some great paragon of the village. They were supposed to be the 'good example.'"

"We are being good examples." Adam grinned- just a bit more wickedly than a man of God had any right to. "You're supposed to 'go forth and multiply.'"

She arched a brow. 'Go forth and multiply.' Somehow she wasn't quite sure planning to ravish one's wife on the kitchen bench was exactly what that meant. . . but if he was happy and it kept the night terrors away for a few days who was she to complain?

With the door securely locked, Adam returned to stand between his legs. "But if you'd rather finish unpac-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Sarah hooked her legs around his hips

His hand strayed to her waist. " _You_ wanted to stop."

" _You_ locked the door." she tugged his shirt from his waistband.

"I did." He pushed her skirt up over her garters.

"And it would be a _terrible_ shame if we let our first chance alone in _days_ go to waste." Two could play at that game. His collar was the first thing to go, then his buttons were undone one by one. She might not be able to get him completely undressed but this was better than nothing. "It could be a whole week before we get another chance."

"Mmm a terribleshame." he pulled her forward to the edge of the bench, flush against him.

Sarah nipped his ear. This was all his fault really. He'd done all the the corrupting. "Mocking your wife isn't part of the plan, Reverend."

"Not mocking. I would never mock my," Adam pulled the tie at her waist loose. "clever," he pushed the housecoat down her arms. "beautiful wife, and her wicked ideas."

Surely he'd not caught on already. That first morning when she'd tried to talk to him about the shell shock he'd made it perfectly plain, he thought it was something he had to work though alone. He'd closed off, retreating into himself. She'd be damned if she let that happen again. They were partners now. Fixing whatever was wrong with him was just as much her job as making sure the ironing and cooking got done. "Flattery won't work either. Adam so help me if that phone rings or they come back. . ."

He stroked her stocking covered thigh. "You'll what?"

She groaned. The things that man could do without so much as undressing her. This was

why he hadn't wanted to go upstairs. Here she couldn't pin him to the bed, she had no choice but to let him set the pace. Damn him. "You'll- sleep on the sofa until Mother goes home."

An empty threat if ever there was one.

She was just as bad off as he was. If Peter had the sense Adam hoped he did, he'd keep the resident busybodies occupied for at least an hour or so. He pushed the hem of her dress up around her waist. It would be easy enough to get her knickers off, he just had to hook his fingers around the elastic. . . and there they went down to her knees.

Sarah pushed him back to finish freeing herself of the offending piece of fabric. With a wiggle and a flick of her foot, she sent the offending piece of fabric flying, hopefully not too far away. "Stop staring." she grinned. There was no mistaking the stormy look in his eyes but they'd darkened to an entirely different shade than when the nightmares took over. "And come back here."

There were some things a man didn't need to be told twice, and this was one of them. "You're very demanding Mrs. Collingborne." This was a much better idea than the wall, she was at the perfect height.

"And you talk too much. If you'd hurry up I wouldn't have to be so demanding." At least she could talk and get something done at the same time. Before he had another chance to speak she had his belt lose and trousers undone.

Adam pulled her to the edge of the bench.

She rolled her hips against him. "If you don't hurry up. . . ." A person could only be pushed so far before it just wasn't fair.

"Then stop talking." he pressed into her. Three days was two to many for any man's sanity.

Damn him. Only he could turn her legs to jelly with one movement,. Only he could drive all coherent thought from her head.

"Let go." he purred against her neck.

"Adam." she squirmed closer desperate for more contact. He'd barely begun and she already felt her orgasm building- the fireworks beginning to explode.

He could feel the twinge in his back. Adam knew he wouldn't last long- not after three days- but he wasn't about to leave her wanting. "Let go, Sarah." Who was there to hear?

Even letting him go for a moment was more than she could bare; even if he thrust home a moment later. The leg she'd wrapped around him trembled; the fireworks exploded as her orgasm took over. Three words from him was enough to light her world on fire.

And indeed enough to send him along close behind. "Dear God." he groaned, muffled by her neck. Never again were they going to wait three days. His heart couldn't take it. One way or another her mother was going to stay with Frances. One way or another.

After what seemed like an eternity she moved, pulling her head back to study him. "You're a terrible influence." Sarah kissed him. "A terrible, terrible influence."

A month ago, a week ago, she never would have fathomed the idea of bedding a man- especially her straight laced vicar of a husband - in the kitchen. But then again a month ago she wouldn't have considered much beyond a bed and they'd quickly discovered more than a few other flat surfaces that worked quite well when they were the most convenient option. When a person didn't know what they were missing it was easy to behave.

Unpacking be damned, there were more important things to a marriage than getting all the pots put away.

* * *

It's a bit OOC for Mr. UpstairsWe'reNotFrench But the poor fella has gone from getting it every day... okay multiple times a day we know what newlyweds are like... for about two weeks to the mother-in-law down the hall and the sister-in-law over every waking moment of the day he's as desperate plus they're about twenty odd years younger than 1.5 he'd be like 34/35 by my math.

And Branda you crazy bitch can suck it. I did it it. You fucked up my life for far too long. You lose.


End file.
